


The Benefits of Being With You

by kawaiisumi



Category: Free!
Genre: (just some swears mixed in here and there), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends With Benefits, Friends With Benefits AU, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multimedia, Mutual Pining, Pining, Social Media, background MakoHaru and mention of HiyoIku, the whole fic is just two idiots in love who fuck and catch feelings you're welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24445171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawaiisumi/pseuds/kawaiisumi
Summary: Kisumi flutters his eyelashes, “Shiina Asahi, are you suggesting that I might fall in love with you? You may be pretty, but it’s incrediblycockyof you to think sleeping with you will make me fall head over heels in love with you.” He licks his lips, letting his gaze sweep Asahi’s body.Asahi flushes prettily. Kisumi knows how to drive him completely up the walls. And yet, it’s what Asahi finds most attractive about him.Aka, what not to do when you catch feelings, hard.
Relationships: Shigino Kisumi/Shiina Asahi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 91





	The Benefits of Being With You

**Author's Note:**

> So.... No one asked for this fic, but I have been sitting on this idea for almost a year, and have been sitting on a draft of this fic for almost half a year. But here we are in the year 2020 and I have finished it damn it!!!!!
> 
> I think AsaKisu have such a fresh and interesting dynamic that is so different from all the other free! pairings I usually write (*cough* HiyoIku *cough*) so it was such a pleasure to write something new and also a challenge cause.... I realized I barely know how to write these characters LOL. 
> 
> This is the first time I've ever added any other media, and I have no photoshop skills so I'm sorry if you can tell they're fake lol, but I hope you enjoy!!!

****

**The Benefits of Being with You  
** _Aka, what not to do when you catch feelings, hard._

Even when everyone else falls away, they don’t lose contact.

Asahi hates moving. He hates having his roots ripped out of the ground, thrown somewhere else, and being expected to start over. Leaving everything behind is not something he’s good at. He’s left so many parts of himself in so many people’s hands. He’s tired of having to go through the process over and over again.

So, he doesn’t tell anyone when he’s suddenly uprooted from Iwatobi. Well, almost.

The moving truck is all packed up. Asahi’s father packs the last of their things into the trunk of their tiny car. Asahi hugs his backpack to his chest, looking at the house one more time before spinning on his heel toward the car.

He’s surprised to see Kisumi there. His face is soft and innocent, but his eyes sparkle with perplexity.

“Where are you going?”

The words hang between them. Asahi’s gaze falls to the ground, staring hard at the sidewalk and his bright red sneakers. “I’m moving,” he blurts, feeling warmth flush down his neck.

“Oh,” is all Kisumi offers.

Asahi frowns, “Are you mad?”

Kisumi’s stupid pretty eyelashes flutter as he blinks. He smiles coyly in that incinerating hot way that only he’s capable of. “I’m not mad. Sad maybe.” Kisumi kicks at the pebbles on the walkway. “I’ll miss you.”

Asahi can’t bring himself to say the same. “Asahi, let’s go!” His sister calls from the car.

Asahi nods, lingering for a moment in Kisumi’s presence. He brushes past Kisumi, surprised when Kisumi grabs hold of his arm. Asahi drops his backpack in surprise. “I’ll write you,” Kisumi fishes a marker out from his pocket, rolling up his sleeve. “Write your address on my arm.”

“You’re crazy.”

“But you’ll still do it.”

Asahi sighs, running a hand through his messy red hair. His dad honks the car horn, signalling their time is quickly coming to an end. Asahi grabs the marker from Kisumi’s hand, scrawling his address down on Kisumi’s forearm, “Fine.”

The smile on Kisumi’s face is blinding. “I’ll buy special stationary just for you,” he teases with an effortless wiggle of his eyebrows.

Asahi rolls his eyes. He claps Kisumi on the shoulder, before disappearing into the car.

He’s surprised when a week later, a letter actually arrives at his house. True to Kisumi’s word, he’s written a letter on the most obnoxiously pink, rose scented stationary. “Ooou, is that from your _girlfriend_?” His sister teases.

Asahi burns with embarrassment. “No, it’s from my stupid friend.”

“Stupid or not, they went really out of their way to write you a cutesy letter.”

Asahi wrinkles his nose, shoving the letter in his back pocket. “Stupid onee-chan, stupid Kisumi,” he grumbles to no one in particular. He stomps up the stairs and into his room. But when the door is closed, he smooths out the letter, sits on his bed and starts to read.

\-----

Becoming pen pals was not in the itinerary. Asahi had no intention of keeping people from the past in his life, lest they be taken from him again. He’s learned not to grow too attached. Friends are fleeting; especially when you move a lot.

But Kisumi is _persistent_. No matter where Asahi goes, Kisumi finds a way to weasel his new address out of him. The letters keep coming. With every new house, it’s a new coloured stationary with a different terrible flowery scent.

They exchange phone numbers when they finally get cell phones. Kisumi tells Asahi he lost contact with Makoto and Haru when he moved to a different high school. Asahi rolls over in his bed, staring at the wall. “That’s too bad.”

“At least I still get to talk to you.”

Asahi blushes, burying his face in a pillow. “Stop saying things like that. People will start getting the wrong idea.”

“And what kind of idea is that?” Kisumi asks innocently; yet his voice sounds anything but.

Asahi hesitates, listening to Kisumi’s hushed breathing over the phone. “… Never mind. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Oh, before you go, I wanted to ask you something.”

Asahi’s heart stutters. He grunts, feeling frustrated. Kisumi’s voice has a way of messing with his body. He feels suspended in air; like he’s staring down the crest of a hill, ready to fall. “What is it?”

“I have a basketball game in Kazami next week, can I see you?”

The question catches Asahi off guard. He hasn’t actually seen Kisumi in person in years. The Kisumi he knows is thin and small, with big lavender eyes and chubby cheeks. “Okay,” Asahi stumbles, mentally kicking himself.

_Just be normal, you idiot_ , he tells himself.

“If you want, you can watch the game too,” Kisumi offers, a grin in his voice.

“I don’t watch basketball,” Asahi refutes stubbornly, snapping his phone shut.

Yet, despite what he says, Asahi wanders into the school gymnasium during the basketball tournament. He tries to act casual, slinking into the seats undetected. But someone catches his eye, giving him a paralyzing smile with lush lips. It takes Asahi a full moment to realize, it’s Kisumi.

He looks… good. Better than good, Kisumi looks _great_. He’s gotten so much taller than the last time Asahi saw him. Gone is Kisumi’s baby fat, and in its place, toned arms and legs and a jawline that could cut through Asahi like butter. The half time buzzer goes off and Kisumi saunters off the court, lifting his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face. Asahi’s eyes drink in the sight of Kisumi’s beautifully defined abs, his face hot with embarrassment.

Kisumi’s gotten _hot_ after all these years.

Kisumi waves at him from the sidelines. He tousles his candy pink hair, beaming at Asahi with his million-dollar smile. Asahi swallows hard, trying to remind his muscles how to move. He waves back awkwardly, thankful that the referee blows the whistle to restart the game.

His school loses the game, which is no surprise. Kisumi is a beast on the basketball court. He demands attention, commands the ball to his every whim. He plays assertive without being aggressive, scoring baskets upon baskets like it’s effortless.

When the game ends, all the players line up to shake hands. Kisumi’s teammates dog pile him into a series of playful slaps on the back and tousle his hair. By the time Kisumi extracts himself from the crowd, Asahi’s one of the only people still sitting on the bleachers.

Kisumi pulls off his sweaty jersey, leaving everything on display for Asahi to look at. Even without a basketball in his hands, he demands to be seen. Demands for Asahi to see him. Asahi’s mouth feels awfully dry.

“Hey,” Kisumi’s voice is low, husky and dripping in honey.

Asahi squirms. “H-hey,” he tries not to stare, but he can’t help himself. Kisumi’s skin is slick and glossy with sweat. Every curve and bend of his body is handcrafted art. Asahi just can’t tear his eyes away.

“You like what you see?” Kisumi asks, bumping his knee against Asahi’s.

“As if,” Asahi retorts stubbornly.

Kisumi chuckles warmly, laying a wandering hand on Asahi’s thigh. “I missed you.”

The touch of Kisumi’s skin is electrifying. The hair on Asahi’s neck stand at attention. His brain buzzes. Kisumi may be an annoying pain in the ass, but he’s still his friend. “I missed you too.”

Kisumi smiles, “You wanna get out of here?”

Asahi rises, kicking Kisumi’s foot. “Yeah, yeah, let’s go. Can you put some clothes on or something?”

Once Kisumi’s showered and changed back into his street clothes, they walk around aimlessly for a while. Kisumi chatters on about his brother, his school, his basketball team. Kisumi could talk about anything under the sun, and Asahi would still listen. They come across the park by Asahi’s house, and Kisumi grabs his hand. “Asahi, let’s climb to the top,” he points to the jungle gym’s roof.

“Are you crazy?” Asahi says as Kisumi drags him into the sand. But he goes along with Kisumi’s whims, like the moon pulls the tides. It takes some scrambling, scraped knees, and fumbling limbs, but they sit on the top of the jungle gym and watch the sun set behind the houses. “Don’t you have to go home soon?” Asahi asks.

The shadows of the trees stretch along the ground. “I guess,” Kisumi shrugs. Asahi tucks his legs in, knees to his chest. The golden sunshine makes Kisumi glow. Kisumi turns, grinning idiotically when he catches Asahi staring. “Are you sure you don’t like what you see?”

“Shut up,” Asahi retorts, shoving Kisumi by the shoulder.

But Kisumi grabs on to Asahi’s shirt, pulling him down so Kisumi’s body is sprawled on top of him. Asahi can feel Kisumi’s breath on his skin, his heart pounding against his ribs. He swallows hard, and Kisumi giggles, cupping Asahi’s face. “Make me,” Kisumi whispers with the same demand he commands on the basketball court.

Asahi freezes, sweat beading down his neck. He feels hot, bothered, _thirsty_. Kisumi draws out feelings from him he didn’t know where possible for him to feel. Kisumi sits up, an arm easily slung around Asahi’s shoulder. “Asahi…” The way Kisumi says his name makes hot chills rush down his throat. It quells all the bubbling anxiety and nerves that burn in his stomach.

“Mmm…” Asahi nods awkwardly, inhaling sharply when Kisumi’s lips brush his own. Kisumi’s lips are soft, but he kisses hard. Their teeth knock together awkwardly, but Kisumi licks the seam of Asahi’s lips, nibbling gently on his throbbing lower lip. “Kisumi…” Asahi groans, putting a hand on Kisumi’s chest. He pushes Kisumi away gently, blushing hotly. Asahi puts a hand to his lips, fingertips brushing on the sensitive skin that sends tingles through his body. Heat liquifies his veins in a way that’s dangerously addicting. “I… I’m not…”

“Did you not like it?” Kisumi asks. He looks neither awkward nor embarrassed, which Asahi envies incredibly.

“No!” Asahi replies much too quickly. He stares at his lap, fiddling with the loose thread on the seam of his jeans. “I just…”

Kisumi hums knowingly, leaning backward onto his elbows. “So, you did like it?”

“I don’t want to answer that.”

Kisumi smirks, “Did it feel good?”

“What-”

“Did it feel good to kiss me?” Kisumi’s voice is hushed, like it’s their dirty little secret. Asahi glances around. The streetlights have flickered on and the streets are empty save for the two of them.

Asahi blazes with embarrassment under the smoulder Kisumi gives him when the words leave his lips. “It wasn’t bad,” Asahi retorts tenaciously, gulping when Kisumi trails a finger down his chin.

“Do you want me to kiss you again?” Kisumi asks with a lick of his lips.

“I don’t love you,” Asahi blurts, shivering when Kisumi touches him. The words come out before he can think about what he’s saying. He can’t deny that kissing Kisumi feels like everything in his body is on fire. But it’s been years since he’s seen Kisumi, and he burns with a desire far removed from the purity of love. He gapes, expecting Kisumi to hit him or something.

But Kisumi just smiles, taking his hand and kissing each of his fingertips. “Okay. Do you still want to kiss me?”

“What?” Asahi pulls his hand away, “What are you…”

“I don’t care if you love me,” Kisumi replies easily. His confidence is intoxicating, Asahi struggles to keep his head screwed on tight. “This is just between you and me. Friends having fun, feeling good together.”

Asahi stares incredulously, “Do you really mean that?”

Kisumi slides his warm hands over Asahi’s thigh. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling good, especially when there’s no strings attached.” Kisumi whispers the last bit in Asahi’s ear, and he shudders. He turns his head, meeting Kisumi’s scalding gaze. His lips part, and Kisumi nestles in without a second thought. His tongue slides into Asahi’s mouth, obscenely easy.

When Kisumi pulls away, Asahi blushes brilliantly. “I’m not the only person you’ve ever done that to, am I?”

Kisumi cocks a smile, “Maybe, but I don’t kiss and tell.”

\-----

It just feels so easy. Almost _too_ easy. They don’t see each other very often, but when they do, it’s electric. Asahi meets Kisumi by Sano for brunch the first time. Asahi watches Kisumi carefully over the top of his menu.

“What are you ordering, Asahi?” Kisumi catches his eye. Asahi lays down the menu, looking awkwardly at his hands.

“Dunno,” He replies noncommittally. The waiter comes by, pouring them both a cup of coffee.

Kisumi raises his mug to his lips. “They make good waffles here, maybe you should try those.”

Asahi can’t stand it anymore. He’s always been a rather straightforward person, and he can only take dancing around a subject for so long. “What are we doing Kisumi?”

“I’m not really sure what you mean,” Kisumi puts down his mug. “We’re ordering brunch?”

“Not that, _obviously_ ,” Asahi mumbles. He strokes his chin anxiously, covering his mouth when he asks, “I mean… us. What are we doing?”

“You mean after this?” Kisumi smirks, “I can think of a couple things I’d like to do with you…”

“How can you say that so easily?!”

“I just know what I want and plan to get it,” Kisumi raises an eyebrow at him. “Unless… That’s not what you want.”

“That’s…” Asahi slumps his shoulders. “I just don’t want this to be complicated.”

“I think you’re the one making it complicated,” Kisumi frowns. “It’s just sex.”

Asahi jumps in his seat, clearly scandalized. He looks around the crowded restaurant, slinking lower into his chair. He lowers his voice, “Maybe… but… I don’t want this to make things weird.”

“Weird, how exactly?”

“You know…”

Kisumi flutters his eyelashes, “Shiina Asahi, are you suggesting that I might fall in love with you? You may be pretty, but it’s incredibly _cocky_ of you to think sleeping with you will make me fall head over heels in love with you.” He licks his lips, letting his gaze sweep Asahi’s body.

Asahi flushes prettily. Kisumi knows how to drive him completely up the walls. And yet, it’s what Asahi finds most attractive about him. “I just want things to be clear from the start! You’re my friend. Hell, the only one I still have from middle school. I don’t want things to get weird because we add… other stuff to it.”

Kisumi pouts sympathetically, “You’re my friend too. We can be friends with some added benefits, don’t you think?” He winks.

Asahi doesn’t know how to respond, so he nods, firmly shutting the door on the conversation. Everything plays out like normal. They order food, they chat about school, pay the bill and leave. Asahi finds himself swimming in nerves as they leave the restaurant. “What universities did you apply to?” Kisumi asks, as they walk down the street toward his place.

“Some Tokyo ones, some local,” Asahi shoves his hands into his coat pockets. The wind has a sort of bitter bite in the late autumn.

They stop at a cross walk, Kisumi buttoning the top button of his tan trench coat. “Me too. Who knows, maybe we’ll go to the same university. I’d get to see you way more often.” Some kind of insatiable hunger bleeds into Kisumi’s tone. Asahi shivers in anticipation.

Kisumi’s home is not too far. They walk for a couple minutes into the residential area of the city. It’s domestic. Fathers rake up the colourful fall leaves from their front yards, children in bright coloured coats run down the sidewalk toward the park. Asahi half expects Kisumi’s mom to greet them with cookies when they get to Kisumi’s house. Kisumi unlocks the door, kicking his shoes off hastily in the front foyer. Asahi has only just closed the door when Kisumi overwhelms him. His back hits the door, and his mouth drops open for Kisumi to slide his perfect, beautiful tongue between his lips. “Mmm…” Asahi whimpers. Kisumi’s impatient hands begin to rip the buttons of Asahi’s coat apart; the soft fabric hitting the floor. “Where’s…”

“Mom took Hayato to the dentist,” Kisumi replies breathlessly, teeth nipping Asahi’s swollen bottom lip. Kisumi’s fingers slip under Asahi’s tight fitted shirt while Asahi slides Kisumi’s coat from his shoulders.

Asahi’s hands find Kisumi’s hair, tugging incessantly and demanding. They stumble through the front hallway, up the stairs, until they’re tumbling onto Kisumi’s bed. Hot and breathless, they’re stripping each other of their clothes with abandon. Like nothing else matters, except each other. “Kisumi…” Asahi croaks. Kisumi locks his lips on Asahi’s neck, sucking hard and drawing out a guttural moan from Asahi’s throat. Asahi’s fingers thread through Kisumi’s hair, tugging viciously until Kisumi releases to smother Asahi’s lips with his own.

It’s a delicate dance of warm skin and heady breath. Kisumi’s fingertips bewitch Asahi’s skin, tracing spells of hot lust into aching muscles. Asahi rolls over until Kisumi’s body is on top of him, legs tangled together, knees prying open his legs to slide their bodies together perfectly. Kisumi lifts his head to look at Asahi with his devilishly beautiful eyes, drinking in the sight of Asahi beneath him. “You’re beautiful,” Kisumi whispers. He caresses Asahi’s cheek, dipping his head down to feel Asahi’s breath fan against his skin.

“Shut up,” Asahi grumbles. He wraps his arms around Kisumi’s neck, tilting his chin to capture Kisumi in a tantalizing kiss. Kisumi cranes his hips, getting a feel for the rhythm between them.

Asahi groans when Kisumi slips a hand between his legs. “Make me,” Kisumi teases, slim fingers wrapping around his hardening cock. Asahi’s back arches harshly, wanton moans filling the empty spaces between their bodies. “You like that?” Kisumi thrusts his hips, his cock rubbing against Asahi’s.

It’s earthshattering.

Asahi’s nails dig into Kisumi’s shoulders, and they’re rocking together in the sweetest rhythm he’s ever known. Kisumi’s lips are sweet, his body is pure sex. The edges of his vision burn black, and everything goes white when he comes. “Fuck!” He curses, muscles seizing tightly. The electric pulses ripping through his blood makes his toes curl, his ankles roll, crashing in waves until he collapses into the mattress with Kisumi on top of him.

The brazen grin on Kisumi’s face makes Asahi dizzy. “Did you like that?” He asks, nuzzling his nose into Asahi’s neck.

Asahi rolls his eyes, “What do you think?”

The glint in Kisumi’s eyes is hungry. “I’m thinking there’s more where that came from,” he says, rolling them over to go again. 

Asahi wakes up about an hour later. Kisumi is sitting with his back propped against the headboard. His hair is tousled in that unfair sexy way, and Asahi blushes when Kisumi looks at him. “Good morning princess,” Kisumi grins cheekily.

Asahi sneers, sliding out of the bed. He picks up his clothes that are littered all over the room. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like you’re an absolute treat? It’s cause you are one, sweetie.”

Asahi feels himself burn. He tugs his shirt over his head, staring heatedly. “Stop being flirty,” he complains, obviously embarrassed. “It’s just sex.”

“Maybe so, but it’s sex with someone as hot as you.” Kisumi raises a perfect eyebrow, a stupidly beautiful curl of his lips.

“What time is your mom and Hayato coming back? I should be outta here before that.”

“She texted me from the grocery store about 10 minutes ago. They shouldn’t be back for a while,” Kisumi crawls over the covers, undeniably naked, without a care in the world. He slinks his arms around Asahi’s shoulders. “I think we have time for a little more fun, what do you think?” He kisses the junction between Asahi’s shoulder and neck, tender and teasing.

Asahi melts into Kisumi’s hands. He hates how well Kisumi knows his body and how easily he folds into Kisumi’s arms. “Okay, okay. One more then I’m outta here.”

“Whatever gets you back into my bed, baby,” Kisumi coos.

It’s fine at first. It’s so harmless, Asahi is sure even Makoto could do it. Kisumi is incredible in bed. He knows how to make Asahi’s body feel things he wasn’t even sure were possible. His whole being is just the epitome of what it means to be a sex god.

It feels good. It feels _right._

And it slowly starts to fall apart at the seams.

It’s the summer following their high school graduation. “You’re… what?” Asahi stares hard at the ceiling, wishing he could erase himself. He wants to shrink into the tiniest little piece imaginable and vanish.

Kisumi takes up all the space. His legs drape languidly over Asahi’s thighs. His body stretches across the sheets like a French model begging to be painted. “I’m going to Tokyo. For school.” Kisumi repeats the words, but they still don’t sit in Asahi’s head. They tumble in like drunk lovers against doorframes; Asahi wishes they’d slam on the breaks.

“Where?” Asahi asks dumbly. “I mean… what school?”

“Hidaka University,” Kisumi says with a grin. He sweeps the plastered bangs from Asahi’s forehead, diving in deep for a kiss, before catching the look on Asahi’s face. “What?”

“That’s where _I’m_ going.”

Kisumi clicks his tongue, smiling wolfishly, “Are you now?” Asahi has known Kisumi long enough to know exactly what’s on his mind.

“You did that on purpose you bastard,” Asahi murmurs. He sucks in a deep breath as Kisumi’s well taught hands touch his skin.

“Maybe…” Kisumi fires back. His forehead is pressed to Asahi’s now. His breath fans Asahi’s skin. It makes him shiver. “Maybe I just can’t get enough of you and that body of yours.”

Asahi should be embarrassed. He should feel foolish. He’s lying in Kisumi’s bed, naked, in his childhood home. They’re talking about a future as if they have one together. But they don’t. They’re not dating. They’re not lovers.

Even if Asahi isn’t really sure what they are… exactly.

Kisumi captures him in a kiss; the kind that turns legs to jello and tosses rationale to the wind. Asahi buckles under the pressure. Kisumi’s hands slide up his thighs, and they just open so perfectly for him.

Asahi hopes Kisumi never gets enough of him.

And just the thought scares him.

\-----

His apartment is still empty. Taped up moving boxes litter the ground, a tiny TV on the floor against the wall. The afternoon sun floods in through the window, the dust sparkling in the light. Asahi grunts, fumbling for the lock of the door. He slams Kisumi against the back of the front door, kissing like the sun itself slides down Kisumi’s throat. “God… God…” Asahi chants, when Kisumi’s thigh slides in between his knees, forcing his legs open.

“Mm… Like that,” Kisumi writhes, curling his fingers into Asahi’s messy red hair, as Asahi kisses down his neck, nipping once, twice, three times, as he rips Kisumi’s shirt buttons open.

“You drive me crazy,” Asahi breathes, when Kisumi’s hands release his hair and find the fabric of his tight t-shirt. Skin touching, burning, Asahi feels for the wall as he kisses Kisumi down the hall into his bedroom. His bed has no sheets, and they almost knock over the lamp that sits on the unopened box by the door.

“You’ve taken time to move in,” Kisumi teases, eyes grinning, as Asahi climbs over him on the bed. Kisumi’s legs hook around him, digging his heels into the small of Asahi’s back. They’re face to face; Asahi feels like he can’t breathe when Kisumi looks at him like that.

“Fuck off,” He finds himself saying, intoxicated by Kisumi’s scent; the way his breath shudders when Asahi kisses him just right, with his fingers sliding beneath useless fabric that gets tossed to the floor.

Kisumi smiles coyly, “I’d rather you fuck me.”

Asahi grunts, bracing both forearms around Kisumi’s head. He stares into those exhilaratingly bright eyes, feeling butterflies swarm in his stomach, roots sprouting in his lungs. He wants time to pause – for them to stay in a moment like this, timeless and frozen, just the two of them. His heart pounds, Kisumi’s hands cupping his face, “Don’t quit on me now babe,” he chides, letting their lips meet, and everything else melts away.

By the time they stop, the sun has set. Kisumi drapes himself over Asahi’s bed wearing nothing but a pair of Asahi’s boxers, as Asahi digs through his unopened boxes to find a blanket. “You really should unpack your room,” Kisumi says.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it,” Asahi says, tossing a red throw blanket at Kisumi, “Cover yourself up would you? It’s cold.”

“Don’t like what you see?” Kisumi asks sweetly, though spreads the blanket out over the bed. His eyes beckon Asahi back to bed, and Kisumi curls up close to him. Asahi can feel Kisumi’s breath on his skin, and it just feels so comfortable. He thinks to himself that he could get used to this, lying together in his apartment like this, in the dark where no one else can touch them, and it’s just the two of them-

“I should get going,” Kisumi says, sitting up. He runs a hand through messy pink curls, smiling with swollen lips. “I don’t want to miss the train.”

“… Right,” Asahi replies, a bit dumbfounded.

“Are you okay?” Kisumi asks, peeling himself from Asahi’s embrace to pick up his clothes littered across the floor.

“Yeah… I’m fine,” Asahi says.

Kisumi grins, pecking him on the cheek, “I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Right.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Kisumi hesitates for a moment, fingers lingering on Asahi’s leg through the blanket. He withdraws slowly, busying his hands with buttoning up his shirt.

“I’m fine,” Asahi says. Kisumi nods and leaves, closing the bedroom door behind him. Asahi hears the lock on the front door click open, and the door shut. He can’t help but wonder why his chest hurts so goddamn much.

“Do you mind if I stay over?”

It’s 11:30pm on the Sunday before summer break starts. The window is cracked, and the chirping cicadas seep into the room with the warm summer air. Kisumi rolls onto his stomach, looking at Asahi with a cloying sweetness and a bat of his eyelashes.

Asahi is picking up his clothes from the floor, though drops his shirt on the ground in surprise. It’s an unwritten rule that they don’t stay the night. Ever since the very first time, one of them has always left. There’s no post-sex cuddling, or snuggling, or falling asleep next to each other. Well, not until today. Kisumi’s eyes fix on Asahi, “It’s late, and I’m tired. Can I stay here?”

“Are… are you sleeping in my bed?” Asahi asks stupidly.

Kisumi grins, “Why? You wanna be a gentleman and let me sleep here while you sleep on the couch?”

Asahi flushes. He grabs his sweatpants off the floor, clumsily shoving his feet into the pant legs, “ _No_ ,” he says. “I just wanted to know if I should expect you to kick me all goddamn night.”

“I think you’ll find I’m quite good in bed,” Kisumi says smoothly, with a naughty little grin. He pats the empty space on Asahi’s bed, “Just come here. Turn the light off.”

Asahi hesitates a moment but turns off the lamp across the room and slides into the bed. Kisumi is a strange but welcome presence in his bed. Asahi swallows thickly, turning his back to Kisumi and trying to sleep but his mind won’t stop reeling. Kisumi’s breathing grows long and steady, while Asahi’s heart beats faster and louder in his ringing ears.

He flinches when Kisumi’s arm slides around his waist, pulling him in closer to press Asahi’s shoulder blades into Kisumi’s torso. “What are you doing?” Asahi whispers sharply.

“Mmmm, sleepy,” Kisumi mumbles incoherently, cheek against Asahi’s shoulder.

Everything feels so warm, the touch of Kisumi’s skin against his body in a way that it never has been before. Asahi feels a buttery feeling blossom in the pit of his stomach that tickles into his toes and the tips of his fingers. He finds his eyelids growing heavy, blanketed in Kisumi’s presence, in comfort that he hasn’t felt before.

He sleeps better than he ever has.

\-----

Asahi gets used to falling asleep beside Kisumi way too easily. When he’s not there, his bed feels far too empty. It’s cold, and there is too much empty space where Kisumi’s body should be. It makes him feel restless, _irritated_. If he squeezes his eyes shut, he can pretend Kisumi is there. He can pretend that Kisumi’s hands hold his hips; that his lips trace the outline of his neck. If he focuses hard enough, Asahi can still smell traces of Kisumi’s shampoo on his pillows, and the feeling of his heartbeat against Asahi’s skin.

He tosses himself to one side, flipping his pillow over as he buries his face into the cool side of the pillow. He’s not sure what it is about Kisumi that makes it so easy for him to sleep. Maybe it’s just too cold now that it’s winter, or maybe he’s used to hearing someone else breathing while he sleeps. Asahi tries turning up the heater, propping up his pillows by his side like a person, none of it works.

Asahi dozes off listlessly. He wakes to the first rays of sunshine on his face, the chirping birds singing tunes to the sunrise. Pushing back the covers, Asahi’s phone falls on the floor. He sticks his hand out, fishing for it. He blearily rubs at his eyes, absently filtering through Snapchat until he comes across a photo that makes his stomach sink.

An uncomfortable wash of bitterness overtakes Asahi’s body. He looks over the photo again and again, for traces of something, anything. But he knows those hands anywhere. They’re Kisumi’s hands. His stupid, beautiful, Renaissance-art worthy hands. The ones that know every inch of his skin, that touch him in ways he wouldn’t dare try to describe to someone.

And there they are, holding someone else’s hands. In some else’s bed.

His stomach does a somersault. First, he’s angry. That’s _his_ spot. It should be _him_ lying in beside Kisumi, holding his hand in that post-intimate moment that demands a different kind of closeness. He’s mad that he’s barely slept a wink without Kisumi at his side, and meanwhile Kisumi is holding someone Asahi doesn’t even know.

He lies there for a while, opening Kisumi’s story over and over again. Asahi hoists his heavy body up, running a hand through his messy bed hair. Against his own good judgement, he fires off a text he knows he’ll regret later.

But sometimes doing something bad just felt so good.

Kisumi arrives at his door at half past ten with a bag of snacks from 7-Eleven. Asahi wants to yell at him for being late and bringing such shit food, but he can’t when Kisumi smiles at him with that stupid pretty boy smile.

His hair is fluffy and swept in that perfectly unkempt way that has Asahi’s knees wobbling. Kisumi breezes by him, dumping the snacks out on the coffee table and sitting on the couch. Nonchalantly, he kicks his feet up and waves Asahi over. “Come here pretty boy,” he whispers soothingly, sliding his palms against his thighs.

Asahi slowly closes the door, fighting off the blush that rushes through his cheeks and down his neck. “You’re such an ass,” he finally musters the strength to say. “You’re half an hour late.” But Asahi concedes, he always concedes. “And you didn’t even bring dinner.” He straddles Kisumi’s waist like the final piece in a puzzle, shivering when Kisumi’s hands grace the small of his back.

“But here you are, playing right into my hands,” Kisumi says cheekily, dipping his head to suck a lovely, dark bruises on Asahi’s neck.

Asahi moans, fingers finding Kisumi’s hair. God, he hates it how easily Kisumi has him wrapped around his pinky finger. “Just shut up,” he grumbles.

Kisumi growls lowly, removing Asahi’s shirt and tossing it somewhere on the floor with ease. “Make me.”

Kisumi knows just what to say to make Asahi boil over. Asahi devours Kisumi’s cotton candy lips, sliding his tongue inside forcefully, pushing Kisumi’s back roughly against the couch. Kisumi responds beautifully, smacking Asahi’s ass firmly. He grunts when Asahi teases him right back, grinding deeply into the tent in Kisumi’s pants. “I want you,” Kisumi drawls. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Asahi’s sweatpants, pushing the fabric past Asahi’s thighs.

“Then fucking do it,” Asahi says back, nipping at the shell of Kisumi’s ear. He feels Kisumi smirk, as he rocks his body forward to pick Asahi up with one fell swoop.

He stands from the couch. “Oh you better believe I will,” Kisumi breathes, sauntering into Asahi’s bedroom like he belongs there, kicking the door shut behind him.

Asahi wakes up the next morning with aching legs. He knows instantly he’ll loathe having to go to swim practice. “Good morning beautiful,” Kisumi croons, tenderly kissing the bruised skin of Asahi’s neck. “Aren’t you going to be a pretty sight at swim practice…”

“I _always_ tell you not to leave marks,” Asahi grumbles, pouting.

Kisumi shrugs, sliding out of bed, “What can I say? I only give what I’m begged for.” He bends to retrieve his boxers off the floor, giving Asahi a good eyeful of his naked ass.

Asahi feels his thighs tickle. He throws the covers over his embarrassed face. “How do you say things like that so easily?”

“Practice,” Kisumi replies effortlessly. “Can I borrow one of your shirts?” Asahi can hear Kisumi crossing the room, already going through his dresser.

Asahi peeks out from under the covers, almost fainting at the sight of Kisumi in one of his tight t-shirts. “Why bother asking if you’re not going to wait for the answer?”

Kisumi chuckles, shimmying into his pants and sits at the bottom of the bed. His hand touches Asahi’s calf softly and Asahi jerks. “I’m gonna make coffee and get out of here. Do you want me to save you some?”

Asahi tries to swallow down the gnawing disappointment beginning to fester in his stomach. Kisumi is just his friend. His friend with some… added benefits. He’s not required to stay for the morning, make breakfast, or kiss him goodbye. Asahi doesn’t even know why he feels so crestfallen.

“I’m fine,” He says. Whether he’s trying to convince Kisumi or himself, he’s not quite sure.

“Okay,” Kisumi replies nonchalantly. “Text you later.”

And just as quickly as he came, Kisumi’s gone again.

\-----

“There’s something different about you.”

Haru says it nonchalantly, but it makes Asahi’s blood run cold. It’s just after swim practice; Asahi slips on his track pants as Haru towel dries his hair. “What are you talking about?” Asahi shoves his sneakers on, tucking the laces inside.

“Dunno. You seem different,” Haru shrugs. “Good, but not great.”

“Gee, thanks Haru.”

Haru blinks perplexedly. “Is something going on?”

For someone that often looks like he has no care in the world, Haru sure asks a lot of questions. Over the cacophony of sound in the locker room, Asahi lowers his voice to just above a simmer. “Can I tell you something?”

Haru hesitates for a moment, “… What?” He stuffs his towel into his gym bag, sitting beside Asahi on the bench to put on his shoes. Their shoulders brush, and it’s strangely comforting. Haru has a way at making anyone he’s with feel at ease, regardless if he means to or not.

It’s enough to let Asahi breathe. He sighs, letting his head fall between his knees dejectedly. “So… Kisumi and I… are sleeping together.”

He waits for a reaction, but Haru just shrugs, “Okay.”

“What do you mean ‘okay’?” Asahi gapes, with eyes wide.

“It’s not really any of my business. You two do whatever you want. As long as you’re happy.”

“You really are something else Haru…” Asahi exhales, with a shake of his head. “We were happy… I was… happy.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“Kisumi and I have been sleeping together since third year of high school,” Asahi admits. To be able to say such a thing out loud is liberating. It feels like a dirty secret he’s been holding on to for far too long. It’s a breath of dazzling, beautiful, electrifying air after breaking the ocean’s surface. “And it was so _easy_. It was no strings attached. No feelings. No messiness. Just sex.” All the words just start tumbling out. Asahi feels a familiar sting in his eyes, squeezing them shut. “We’re friends. We sleep together. But we’re not dating. We’re not boyfriends. I thought I was okay with that…”

“But you’re not,” Haru offers, the ghost of sympathy shadowed on his face.

“I thought I was…” Asahi fumbles for his phone from his pocket, he checks Kisumi’s story, before realizing the post was already gone. He doesn’t remember if Kisumi’s ever posted anything on his snap story when he stays over at Asahi’s. “And then he posted a picture in someone else’s bed.” Asahi puts his phone away, staring hard at the floor. “He _sees_ other people, Haru.” Asahi swallows hard. “It’s not like he’s not allowed to. I just… I thought…”

“You thought you were the only one?” The words are harsh, but the sentiment behind them is soft. Haru frowns, letting his shoulder touch Asahi’s in comfort.

“It was _incredibly_ stupid to think so,” Asahi wipes at his face with the back of his hands. “We’re not dating. We never said we were exclusive. I’m so _stupid_.” Haru hums in agreement. Asahi can’t help but breathe a flimsy laugh. “You are such a bastard Haru.”

Haru’s lips twitch in the slightest of smiles before sobering. “You should tell him.”

“How can I?” Asahi whispers helplessly. “How do you tell the person you’re sleeping with you’re in love with them?”

There’s a quiet moment. “I never implied that you were in love with him,” Haru says finally.

“What? What do you-”

“You said it all on your own.”

The realization hits Asahi square in the chest. For a moment, he forgets what it’s like to breathe. It’s like something cold slides down his spine and tingles into his fingers, into his toes. Haru puts an awkward hand on Asahi’s shoulder, “You should _tell_ him,” Haru says.

“Tell him I love him,” Asahi mumbles, feeling equally parts disillusioned and disbelieved.

Haru shrugs. “Tell him what you need to tell him.”

\-----

It takes Asahi a couple days to text Kisumi again.

He waits anxiously, sitting at one of the studying booths by the vending machines. He has no idea what he should say, no idea what he should do. Maybe he’s come to terms with the fact that he loves Kisumi, but that doesn’t mean he has any idea what he should do with that information.

“Hey.” Kisumi shakes him out of his thoughts, sliding into the other side of the booth. He’s got that stupid grin on his face, easily shrugging off his jacket and putting it to the side. “What’s up?” Asahi stares. He can’t help but look at Kisumi’s face, the curve of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the touch of his skin. He knows so much about Kisumi but feels so far away. “Asahi? Hello?” Kisumi snaps in front of Asahi’s face, “You’re being weird. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Asahi says, finally pulling his eyes away from Kisumi’s face. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Kisumi replies. His phone bleeps from his bag. Kisumi retrieves it from his coat pocket, his expression shifting as he reads the screen. He types back a response. “Was there a reason you wanted to meet up? Or…?”

“Can I not just want to see my friend?” Asahi frowns. He watches Kisumi’s face as he types, noticing the subtle shifts in his expression with each passing message. “… What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Kisumi looks up from his phone, putting it on the table between them. “Sorry, I was just making plans for tonight.”

“What kind of plans?” Asahi finds himself asking, before he can bite on his tongue.

“You know,” Kisumi smirks with those tantalizing lips, and Asahi feels his heart sink into his stomach. “ _Plans._ ”

“With who?” Asahi wills himself to shut up, but he can’t stop himself from asking. His heart swims in his stomach, beginning to burn with a strange mix of possessiveness and jealousy.

“Since when were you so interrogative?” Kisumi replies, his tone says it’s a joke, but his eyes give away a sense of impending irritation.

Asahi huffs, “Can I not ask? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah we are,” Kisumi says, a cooler quality seeping into his voice, “But you don’t have to have such a stick up your ass. They aren’t _your_ plans. It’s not like it really matters to you.”

It doesn’t matter. Kisumi isn’t his boyfriend. He doesn’t have any right to be jealous. Kisumi can do whatever he wants. But Asahi doesn’t feel any less hurt. “Yeah, well, we all don’t have your knack at sleeping with 50 different people at the same time.”

“Excuse me?” Kisumi’s eyes widen, and Asahi instantly regrets what he says. But he can’t take it back, and he’s steamrolling forward without thinking.

“You heard me,” He says, balling his fingers together tightly to stop them from shaking. “You just think you’re such a hot shot, don’t you? Just sitting here flaunting all the people who just want you?”

Kisumi scoffs, “Oh, like you’re one to talk. May I remind you that _you’re_ one of those people? Or have you suddenly decided to have a god complex about who you sleep with?”

“Oh fuck off,” Asahi snaps. “You act like you’re so high and mighty, like you’re some kind of god and everyone wants you. Does anyone even mean anything to you? Or do you treat everyone like they’re just something to be used?”

“What the fuck is your problem, Asahi?” Kisumi’s angry now, his cheeks taking on a very flushed, angry red. “You really want to sit there in front of me acting like you don’t use me for the very same thing? You really want to accuse me of being a hypocrite right now?”

“At least _I_ don’t just fuck anyone who’s willing.”

Kisumi smiles, but it doesn’t reach his cold eyes. “Oh, that’s just low. You’re such a bastard. No strings attached. Just sex. Aren’t you the one that said that? Why are you acting like a mopey little shit now? Frankly, it’s none of your business what I do. I’m not your boyfriend.”

The words drop on Asahi like a bucket of cold water. He’s so stupid. It’s _his_ fault he’s in a mess like this. He was the one to say he didn’t want any feelings attached. He’s the one who said that they weren’t going to go anywhere.

And yet, he’s the one sitting there acting like a brat from all the feelings that are hurdling through his body. “This is stupid. I’m leaving,” Asahi says, standing. He slings his jacket around himself in a rush, shoving his hands in the pockets as he storms away. His eyes sting, making everything watery and blurry. But he bites his stubborn tongue and stomps toward the exit.

“Fine, go! See if I care,” Kisumi yells after him. Asahi doesn’t turn around; he just blazes on ahead.

\-----

“Baka Asahi, what are you doing here?”

“Gee, what a nice way to say hello,” Asahi replies, pushing through the door and into the foyer. “Can we talk?”

Ikuya shrugs, following Asahi into the living room, where he paces back and forth anxiously. “You’re already here,” Ikuya says sardonically.

Asahi sighs heavily, flopping down onto Ikuya’s couch. “How did you tell Hiyori you loved him?”

“Excuse me?” Ikuya shakes his head, bewildered. He sits down beside Asahi, “what is going on in that big head of yours?”

“You were friends for a long time, yeah? How did you just… become boyfriends?” Asahi’s half-expecting for Ikuya to make a snide comment, but Ikuya’s face is surprisingly sobering.

“What is going on?”

Asahi hesitates for a moment, “Hypothetically, let’s say that I have feelings for someone.”

“Okay…”

“But we have a… pre-existing relationship already.”

Ikuya raises an eyebrow, “What kind of pre-existing relationship exactly?”

Asahi rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Let’s say it’s an intimate one.”

Ikuya exhales slowly, settling down into the couch, as though knowing he’s in it for the long run. “So, you slept with someone, and now you have feelings for them.”

“Yeah. I guess,” Asahi replies, feeling ashamed. He ducks his head, fiddling with his fingers in his lap.

“Why do you look like I kicked your dog or something?” Ikuya asks. “It’s not like it’s unheard of. People sleep with people and catch feelings. That’s not news.”

Asahi cowers, twiddling his thumbs. “I just… I don’t think they like me back. I’m not the only person they see.”

“Oh,” Ikuya says. “… Have you talked to them about it?”

“Does this really sound like something I can just bring up with them?” Asahi retorts. He sighs, his shoulders sinking as he does. “How can I?”

Ikuya pulls his legs in, hugging them close to his chest. “You asked me how I told Hiyori I loved him. And the truth is… I didn’t. Not for a long time anyway. I kinda just carried it around with me, until it became a big mess. I don’t think there’s a right way to tell someone you love them. No matter how you do it, it’s gonna be hard. But the worst thing you can do is not say anything and wonder how it would’ve been.”

“Holy shit, dating Hiyori has made you some sort of love philosopher.”

Ikuya slaps him on the shoulder, “Shut up.”

Asahi rolls his eyes, shoving Ikuya back playfully. “But he makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

Ikuya’s eyes suddenly get soft and tender, and his face subtly brightens at the thought, “He does.”

They sit in silence for a moment, before Ikuya says, “I hope you get to be happy too, Baka Asahi.”

Asahi laughs, the ache in his chest feeling just a tad bit better. “Yeah, me too.”

When Asahi leaves Ikuya’s apartment, the sun is already gone. He takes the train halfway across the city to get to Kisumi’s place. The wind is chilly, and Asahi shoves his half-frozen fingers into the pockets of his coat. His head is swirling, whirling, moving way too fast, for him to process. But he has his mind set, and he’s going to see it through.

He knocks on Kisumi’s door and waits for an answer. When there isn’t one immediately he knocks again. A sliver of light seeps out from under the door so Asahi knows he’s home. “Kisumi! It’s Asahi, open up!” He exclaims. He’s got to tell him before he loses all his nerve.

The door swings open, Kisumi stands there in sweatpants, without a shirt on. “Asahi? What are you doing here?” He asks, bewildered.

“I need to do something crazy before I lose my nerve,” Asahi finally stops to catch his breath. He hadn’t realized how hard he’d been breathing. Did he run from the train station? He honestly can’t even remember. He takes Kisumi’s hand, holding it close to him. “Kisumi I…”

“Asahi, wait-”

“I’m in love with you,” Asahi blurts out. The words hang in the air, fizzling out into the cold night. Asahi takes a gulp of air, and the cold aches in his lungs. “All this time, it’s always been you. I denied it more times than I can count. Every time I’m with you I feel like my whole fucking body is on fire but in the best and craziest way possible. You make me feel like I’m alive, and that I matter. I love the way you look at me, and the way you touch me, and the way you make everything alright. I’m an idiot for not knowing it sooner. I’m an idiot for hurting you over and over again. And I’m sorry. I love you.”

Everything. His whole heart is just sitting in Kisumi’s hands, as he gasps for breath, standing outside his apartment door. Kisumi’s eyes have this wild glimmer Asahi has never seen before. He opens his mouth to say something, but someone else beats him to it.

“Kisu, who is at the door?”

Asahi draws his gaze away from Kisumi to the girl behind him. She’s small, with long honey hair, and creamy coloured skin. She’s wearing one of Kisumi’s t-shirts, and it drapes across her lithe little frame like a dress. She’s everything that Asahi is not. The dread creeps into Asahi’s stomach faster than the absolute insane rush of adrenaline can displace it.

He’s such an idiot. He’s never been anything more than a hook up to Kisumi. He’s the one that took it too far, and he’s the one messing up the only good fucking thing he’s ever had in his life. “I… um… sorry,” Asahi mumbles, feeling like he’s about to throw up. He rips his hand away from Kisumi, who’s face has gone ashen and pale so quickly.

“Asahi… wait…”

“No, um…” Words. He needs words to say. He needs to… say something. “I’m… I’m clearly interrupting something. I’m going to go.” He spins on his heel, starting to run, faintly hearing Kisumi calling out to him.

But he doesn’t stop. He just keeps running and running and running until he has no idea where he is and his face hurts from the tears that stream down his cheeks.

He’s such an idiot.

\-----

By the time Asahi finds his way back home, his legs ache and his face is rubbed raw. When he looks himself in the mirror, he barely recognizes himself. His eyes are bloodshot and swollen, but there’s no colour in the rest of his face. Asahi splashes himself with ice cold water, trying to mask the creeping numbness that starts in his chest, spreading slowly into his toes and up into his head. He weakly strips off his clothes, discarding them somewhere on the ground before crawling into bed.

When he wakes up, the sun is already beaming through the window. His head hurts from crying so much, and when he tries to swallow, his mouth is far too dry. Asahi pulls back the covers, fumbling onto his aching feet, to trek to the kitchen. He gulps down a whole glass of water while he checks his phone. He’s got more than 5 missed calls, and 20 text messages. At least half of them are from Kisumi. Asahi closes his eyes, Kisumi’s face burned into the back of his eyelids. The look on his face when Asahi said he loved him… Utter embarrassment and humiliation wells up in his stomach, and he feels like he could puke. But he forces himself to open his eyes and look at his phone.

Haru texted him in the morning, asking him if he was coming to swim practice. It seems like the easiest place to start, so Asahi starts there.

Kisumi’s messages are harder. They stick to his gut like a leech, and Asahi finds his hands shaking as he tries to read the messages with his head screwed on straight.

He finds himself shoving his phone into his pocket without answering. Before he knew it, Kisumi had crept in and filled all the empty spaces of his mind and his body, every inch of him knew everything there was to know about Asahi, every touch, every look, every word, he needed to use to make Asahi fall apart in his hands. But he can’t take it anymore. Asahi is tired of burning feelings, and fun, and games. He wants to go back and change everything. He wants to change the things he said. He wants to change ever having thought he and Kisumi could be more than just friends.

Even though his bed calls out for him to crawl back inside and shut out the whole world, Asahi washes up to meet Haru and Makoto for lunch. Showering feels good; if he scrubs hard enough he feels like he can cleanse his body from Kisumi, the way his scent clings to his hair, how his lips marked every surface of his skin, everything. When he gets out of the shower, the bathroom is hazy with steam. Asahi wipes the condensation off the mirror with the back of his hand, staring at his red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. He doesn’t remember starting to cry, but his face tells him everything he needs to know.

Leaving his apartment feels unbearable, but now that he’s outside, he starts to feel better. It’s so much warmer than it was the day before. The sunshine melting into his skin is a welcome embrace, as he walks to the restaurant to meet his friends.

Makoto and Haru are already there when Asahi arrives. They’re sitting at the table in the back corner by the window. Makoto sees him and waves, smiling brilliantly, while Haru sips slowly from a glass of water. “You look tired,” Haru says, when Asahi slides into his seat across from them both.

“Haru!” Makoto quips, looking panicky at Asahi.

“It’s okay,” Asahi shrugs. “He’s not wrong.”

Makoto’s face softens into something more concerned. He fiddles awkwardly with his cutlery, “So um… Haru told me about… um… Kisumi.”

Asahi looks at Haru, who stares back neutrally. He wants to be mad at Haru for sharing his secrets, but he’s known long ago that there are no secrets between Haru and Makoto. “Uh yeah,” Asahi replies lamely. Just hearing his name puts a sour taste in Asahi’s mouth. He reaches for his own water, trying to swallow down the painful lump in his throat. “I… did something stupid.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Makoto tries to reason with him. “Maybe-”

“I told him I love him.”

Makoto’s eyes widen slightly, looking to Haru for information, but Haru is equally as clueless as he is. “Oh,” Makoto finally says, trying to fill the quiet.

“I ran all the way to his stupid apartment to tell his stupid ass I love him, and he was at home with a stupid girl,” Asahi downs more water, but he can taste salt in his mouth. He snivels, trying to hold his breath, but his shoulders keep shaking. “I… I really thought that I had a chance for a second. A chance to fix all the stupid things I said and make it right… But we’re not on the same page. I don’t think he ever cared about me the way I do for him.”

Makoto again looks at Haru, who hands Makoto a napkin. Makoto takes it, handing it to Asahi by proxy. “Oh Asahi …” Makoto’s voice is warm and soothing. He reaches for Asahi’s hand, squeezing gently. “What did Kisumi say? When you told him?”

“I don’t know. I left before he said anything,” Asahi admits shamefully. He dabs at his face with the napkin, crumpling it in his fist. Makoto runs his thumb over Asahi’s other hand, and Asahi remembers to breathe. “He’s sent me a lot of texts and tried to call me… But I haven’t answered.”

“He won’t stop calling unless you do,” Haru says, “Kisumi is stubborn like that.”

Asahi laughs hollowly, “Yeah… I guess you’re right.” He sniffles, using the back of his hand to wipe at his face.

“I think you have to do what’s best for you right now,” Makoto advises. Haru hands him another napkin and he passes it along to Asahi. “Nothing will change if you go into a conversation you’re not ready for.”

“Where were you to tell me that last night?” Asahi tries to joke, but his lips won’t smile. He mops up his face with the napkin and retrieves his phone from his pocket. Kisumi hasn’t sent him any more messages since he last checked earlier that morning. “What should I say? What do I even start with? Sorry I told you I loved you last night? Just kidding?”

“I think you just need to be honest. The only thing that could make this worse is to just make up more lies,” Makoto says, and Haru nods. It’s then that Asahi realizes he’s never been alone, not once. For years, it’s felt like he carried a secret; a burden that only he could understand. But all along he’s had friends he could’ve asked for help from so many times, if he had just bothered to ask.

“You’re right,” Asahi sighs, thumbing through Kisumi’s messages again. He tries to formulate a reply while a waiter passes by and refills their glasses of water.

“I’m going to meet him in an hour,” Asahi says. He pockets his phone with shaky hands, taking a long sip of water. “God… what am I getting myself into?”

“It’s Kisumi,” Haru says, as though that is everything he needs to say. He hesitates a moment, before adding, “If it’s Kisumi… There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Except maybe getting my heart broken,” Asahi says, unconvinced.

“You don’t know that,” Makoto says, “Besides, even if that happens, Haru and I will be here for you.”

Asahi swallows, staring hard at his glass, before he starts crying again. “You guys…”

Haru shrugs, “We’re friends.”

“And we take care of each other,” Makoto finishes.

By the time Asahi gets home, his stomach is full, and his shoulders feel lighter. That is, until he sees Kisumi sitting outside his apartment door, hunched over in an obscenely puffy jacket. “Asahi…” He says, rising to his feet. Kisumi seems softer somehow, quieter.

“Hey,” Asahi offers, not sure what to do. He fumbles to put his key in the lock, finally shoving the door open. Kisumi trails in behind him, awkwardly taking off his boots and coat. Asahi has never seen Kisumi demand so little space, his presence soft and shrinking with each step he takes. He shuffles into the living room, sitting on the sofa, as Asahi takes a seat on the other side.

Neither of them says anything for an uncomfortably long pause. “Um…” Kisumi finally speaks. “I should… apologize for last night. I should’ve… said something before you…”

“Made a fool of myself?” Asahi says, sounding more bitter than he intended.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“But you were thinking it, weren’t you?”

Kisumi doesn’t hesitate to say, “No. I wasn’t.”

Asahi swallows hard, staring at the floor, unable to meet Kisumi’s eye, “So… Who’s the girl?”

Kisumi blinks, startled. “Uh… some girl from my psych lecture… I think.”

“You think?”

“I don’t remember. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter.”

Asahi feels a familiar sting in the back of his eyes. “Do you say that about everyone you sleep with?”

“No,” Kisumi says, louder now. His words ring in the room, the meanings reverberating through the walls.

“Is that what you say about me?” Asahi asks, unable to restrain himself.

Kisumi shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t say that about you.”

For a moment, Asahi’s heart flutters, flaps its stupid little hummingbird wings, as hope zips through his spine. He clears his throat awkwardly, smothering down the butterflies spazzing in his stomach. “I’m… sorry about what I said yesterday. It was uncalled for.”

“… It’s okay,” Kisumi says, even though Asahi knows it’s not.

Asahi rakes a hand through his hair, finally glancing at Kisumi on the other side of the couch. His arms are crossed solidly over his chest, legs curled beneath him. Asahi has never seen this side of him. The Kisumi he knows is bold and bright and big. The Kisumi sitting on his couch now is so small, it’s sad. “When we… When we started doing this, I said I didn’t love you. I was the one that didn’t want to make things weird. But of course, I was the one that had to fuck everything up and make it weird. You don’t… You don’t have to say you love me back. It was stupid of me, really, to think that maybe this… _thing_ between us could be anything more than just sex.” Asahi’s chest hurts; his head aches. Everything about this hurts.

“She doesn’t remind me of you,” Kisumi whispers. His voice barely carries, but Asahi hears him.

“What?”

“She’s nothing like you,” Kisumi says. “She’s… tiny and dainty and soft and everything that you aren’t. When I look at her… I don’t see you.”

Asahi swallows hard, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She doesn’t make me feel the way you do. She doesn’t set me on fire like you do,” Kisumi’s voice rises just as fast as it trembles. “If… If I can sleep with a girl like that, it must mean that I can get over you. That’s… what I told myself.”

“I don’t understand-”

“Asahi only wants _sex_. Asahi doesn’t want _me_. He wants what I make him feel. I can make him feel good. That’s good enough for me. That’s what I kept telling myself. But what if it’s not?” Kisumi inhales tightly, hands squeezed tight, “What if I can’t ever stop loving him, even when he doesn’t even see me?”

“What are you talking about-”

“I love you, stupid!” Asahi’s heart just about falls out of his body. “All this time… It was you. _You_ were the one I wanted. And I… I would do anything to be wanted by you. Even if it meant you only wanted me for sex. I thought I was okay with that, I thought I was! But I couldn’t… I couldn’t do it… So, I slept with other people. I said to myself, _convinced_ myself that I could find someone who could make me feel the way you do.

At first, I tried people that were so much like you – loud, annoying, but so goddamn bright they had sunshine sprouting out of their eyes. But all I saw was you. Every look, every touch, they all reminded me of you. And then I tried to be with people who were the exact opposite of everything that makes you who you are… and I felt… I felt nothing.” Kisumi’s hands find Asahi’s thigh, sliding his palm against the rough grain of his jeans. Asahi feels everything, and nothing at all. “Asahi, there’s no one like you. I love _you_. Not some random girl from god knows which class… _You._ ”

“What?!” Asahi jumps up from the couch, scandalized. Eyes wide, staring, waiting for this all to be one big joke. Kisumi had always felt the exact same way he had, and he couldn’t see it. “All this time… You’ve… You’ve loved me?”

“All this time,” Kisumi says, his voice cracking.

The pause that follows is excruciating. They stare at each other, like for the first time, they actually see the other. Asahi’s legs give out and he falls back onto the couch in a flop, trying to knock some sense into his thick skull and wobbly knees. “You… love me,” Asahi says, the words awkward and thick in his mouth. His throat is swollen with cotton, and swallows dryly. “You… love me.”

“I love you, stupid,” Kisumi says. Their eyes meet, and something inside Asahi changes. A warmth so deep sprouts inside his lungs, it spreads through his chest, melting his insides into liquid gold. For a moment, he feels like he is invincible – and there will never be a moment that feels quite as special as this one.

“I love you too,” Asahi breathes.

And then Kisumi’s lips are on his in a way that he’s never felt before. It’s soft, lacking urgency, but dripping in tantalizing passion. Kisumi murmurs his name in a way that makes Asahi’s skin tingle, prying his mouth open, so that Kisumi can slide his tongue right inside.

Asahi grunts, grabbing for Kisumi’s leg and swinging it over his lap, until Kisumi is straddling him. His back presses against the couch, as Kisumi devours him from the inside out, fingers weaved through his hair like God parts the seas.

And how he wants it, wants to be Kisumi’s everything, _knows_ Kisumi wants to be his too, and it feels different. It all feels so different but in that way that’s so perfect it makes his head spin. “My room…” Asahi says, his voice bubbling at a simmer.

Kisumi hums his agreement, hoisting himself off Asahi’s lap and grabbing him by the arm. They crash into Asahi’s bedroom, limbs flailing wildly, clothes peeling off one by one until they fall onto the bed. Kisumi’s legs get tangled in his sheets, and he giggles so nervously, Asahi is laughing butterflies from his stomach. But it feels so right, so _safe_ Asahi feels like he finally belongs somewhere.

He climbs over Kisumi, rough hands caressing soft skin and taut muscles, pushing his knees between Kisumi’s legs to spread them open. “Can I…?”

Kisumi nods, practiced, deft hands sweeping the top drawer of Asahi’s bedside table for everything they need. “I want everything,” Kisumi sings.

Asahi never thought of himself as a romantic. He thought sex was something born from lust, from feelings you can’t control, that explode and destroy everything in their path. But with Kisumi now, it feels like healing.

Asahi kisses down the column of Kisumi’s neck, tucking his fingers between Kisumi’s legs, and brushing his fingertips against that spot that makes Kisumi arch beneath him. “Asahi… Asahi…” Kisumi prays, fingers scraping up his back. “Oh…” His eyes flutter close, as Asahi rubs that spot inside him that pours praises out his lips.

Asahi grins, sliding his fingers out, only to press the head of his cock against that sensitive opening. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Kisumi pries open his eyes, fluttering his eyelashes sweetly.

Asahi slowly pushes his hips forward, one hand gripping the top of the headboard, the other firm on Kisumi’s hips. They both exhale with a groan when Asahi bottoms out, pausing for a kiss on the lips. Kisumi’s legs wrap around Asahi’s hips, heels digging into the small of his back. It’s not like this is the first time they’ve ever done this.

But somehow… it feels different.

Kisumi’s moans echo through the walls. Asahi’s knuckles turn white, squeezing the bed so hard he’s afraid he might break it. His hips move on their own, and Kisumi meets him halfway, and they’re both groaning through kisses and Kisumi’s voice grows higher and louder, “Asahi….! Mmm… I love you… I love you…”

Kisumi comes first, flexibly arching his back, as his toes curl and twitch beneath Asahi’s warm body. He squeezes so tight, Asahi is following, thrusting his hips forward one last time. His torso hugs Kisumi’s skin, and they’re both trying to catch their breath, as Asahi pulls out, rolling over onto his side. Kisumi turns his head to look at him, and the smile on his face is just the most dazzling thing Asahi has ever seen.

Then he starts to laugh, his eyes scrunching up with those beautiful wrinkles around his eyes, and it sounds like heaven on Earth. “What? Why are you laughing?” Asahi pouts, his face warm and red.

“We… we are so stupid,” Kisumi says. His hand finds Asahi’s, squeezing tight as he lays his head on Asahi’s chest. “So stupid and too in love to notice.”

Asahi drags a hand through Kisumi’s hair, sinking into the rush of endorphins and the feeling of Kisumi’s body, warm against his own. “Yeah,” he says through disbelief, though he feels like things are finally, _finally_ , right.

\-----

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave a kudos and/or a comment and validate my fragile feelings lol
> 
> You can also follow me on twitter @kawaiisumi for more!


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